


Cryptography

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Cats, Community: hd_erised, Frottage, Getting Together, H/D Erised 2018, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Magical Theory, Misunderstandings, Pets, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Rimming, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-28 17:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16727838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Draco Malfoy is still a puzzle that Harry Potter wants to solve. Good thing they both solve puzzles for a living.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sargent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sargent/gifts).



> Lils, it was such a pleasure to create this fic for you. I was giddy when I read your signup - there were so many of my same likes there (banter! misunderstandings!) and your prompt about Harry needing a translator and Draco studying languages was great inspiration. I hope I included a good selection of your likes here, and that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you so much Marshview, for the excellent and speedy beta!
> 
> Finally, thank you to the mods for running such an awesome fest. It's a honor to participate this year.
> 
> Take any linguistic and translation info with a grain of salt.

* * *

_Clink. Clink. Clink-click-clackkkk-k-k-ACK!_

With a whir and a snap, the sides of the cube fell into place, and a warm glow filled the room.

“Wow, Cho,” Harry breathed out. “You've done it.”

Cho turned the cube this way and that, admiring her handiwork. “Wasn't that hard, once you figured out there was a spell on the pins. Bit of genius there, Harry.”

“It just made sense.” Harry reached out to stroke one side of the smooth metal cube. The etched golden swirls and stars that covered the outside pulsed lightly, and Harry smiled. “Mrs Teaswell is going to be happy to have this back. It’s been in her family —”

“— for two hundred years, I know. She mentions it in every owl.” Cho rolled her eyes. “You think she’d trust us without checking in three times a week. We are the best, after all.”

Harry nodded in agreement, taking the small cube and holding it gently. He could feel the magic inside, now working properly: the imprint of two hundred years and generations of Teaswells. Harry felt the rush of accomplishment that came with a successful job, whether repair or discovery; it was a simple pleasure without dire consequences for failure. This wasn’t a Dark object that needed to be tracked down and destroyed. It was only a box for holding keys, that was to be used in emergencies by children that had been locked out of the house and were too young to use a wand to pass through the wards: the equivalent of a Muggle false rock for the doorstep.

The bell over the door tinkled lightly, and Harry set the cube down as he turned towards the sound.

“Welcome to Art and — oh, Gin, it’s you.”

“Don't sound so disappointed.” Ginny threw her practice bag down on the floor, Quidditch gear and bits of grass scattering out of the open end as she approached the counter. “Oh! Did you fix that weird box?” She peered around his shoulder, and Harry took the opportunity to pinch her.

“It's a key cube, not a box. And stop tossing your dirty equipment on my floor.” She pinched him back, and he yelped, then laughed. “Why were you practising, anyway? You won the game this weekend, take a break.”

“Gwenog doesn't understand the word _break_. We have to be back this afternoon. The semi-finals are next month, in any case. Got to stay on point.” She gave Cho a wink. “You ever get sick of this tosser, come try out.”

Cho rolled her eyes, but smiled. “I’m fine here. Keep winning, though; I bet a good chunk of Galleons on the Harpies to win the League Cup this year.”

“Nice to see someone is on our side. Ron still thinks the Cannons will pull it off. Disloyal sibling, that one.”

Harry made for the coat rack near the door. “Speaking of your brothers, I’m supposed to see Bill for lunch. He finally broke the curse on the chest I found in Devonshire this winter.”

“New site?” Ginny asked with interest. “Or old one, in any case.”

“Luna tipped me off about it. She was reading through old journals of an explorer who’d been hunting down… honestly, I can’t remember what animal. But he mentioned camping overnight near a cairn that isn’t on any current maps. Most of the stones are gone now, but there was residual magic, and I managed to get down into the concealed area.”

“What Harry is trying to say is he dug up a grave,” Cho said dryly.

“There weren’t any bodies,” Harry protested. “And the chest was cursed. If someone less prepared had come along, it would have ended badly.”

“So what was inside?”

“Only your brother knows. I couldn’t open it myself, the curse was a bit advanced for me.” Harry shrugged his jacket on. “You can come see for yourself, if you like. Cho?”

Cho shook her head. “No, I need to owl Mrs Teaswell so she can finally pick this up. I’ll see whatever spoils you’ve found soon enough.”

“Come on Gin, I’ll treat you to ice cream.” Harry held the door open and Ginny laughed.

“You’re the best ex-boyfriend around.” As she gathered her gear up, Harry glanced with pride at the framed _Prophet_ article by the door.

_Harry Potter Opens New Shop in Diagon Alley_

_After defying expectations and declining employment with the Aurors following his initial training, we have waited eagerly to hear what the next move would be for our no-longer-a-boy hero. Wonder no more, dear readers. Today his newest venture opens its doors right here in London. Art and Artefact will offer repair and disenchantment services for magical objects as well as restoration for portraits and tapestries. Do not be fooled by the name, as this is not simply a curio shop. Reports of Mr Potter’s daring exploits in ancient tombs and ruins across Britain and beyond seem to have been true, as he is also taking requests by appointment for research and expeditions. Joining him at the shop are Ms Cho Chang, recently certified as a Master Artificer, and Mrs Lavender Brown-Patil, formerly employed with Atelier Fameux in Art Restoration. We wish Mr Potter and his colleagues the best of luck._

* * *

At Gringotts, Bill had good news and bad news.

“Nice to see you again, Harry. Feels like it’s been ages. You too, Gin.”

“Quidditch,” she shrugged, as Harry simultaneously answered, “Work.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Those excuses can only keep Mum satisfied for long. You’d better both be there on Sunday.” They nodded, chastised, and he continued. “The good news is that most of this stuff is just standard valuables. Jewelry, chalices, that sort of thing.” He gestured to a pile of shining gold and silver objects strewn over the table. “You can sell them in the shop as antiques, or donate them to a museum, although I’m not sure what historical value they have.”

“And what’s the bad news?” Harry asked, shooing Ginny back from the open chest. She stuck her tongue out at him. It was coloured pink from the strawberry ice cream they’d eaten at the reopened Fortescue’s.

“The bad news,” Bill sighed as he drew a gleaming sword out from a sheath, “is I have no idea what this says, and therefore no idea what it does.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed, reaching for the sword. He could sense a swirl of magic around the blade — nothing malicious, but powerful all the same, twisting through the steel. “Merlin, do you feel that?”

Bill frowned. “I didn’t feel anything. Do you think it’s a subtle curse?”

“No.” Harry couldn’t explain it, but the sword didn’t seem evil. “I’ll need to take this back to the shop, work with it a bit. Cho may have some ideas.”

“I’ve got to get to afternoon practice,” Ginny said, giving both Harry and Bill a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me see your shiny things! I like the sharp one best.” With a grin she was off.

“I’d best get back to work, also,” Bill said, levitating the hoard into the long chest. “The goblins don’t approve of me pursuing my own projects on company time. Bad enough I met you in my office on lunch. Anytime you have freelance work, though, I’m game. That chest was quite a challenge. Are you really coming to the Burrow this Sunday?” Harry nodded. “Just you?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “If that’s your way of asking if I’ve been seeing anyone, the answer is still no. I’m busy, Bill, you know that. You can tell Molly, as well.” Bill grinned with a blush, clearly knowing he’d been caught out checking up on Harry for his mum.

“I’m sorry, Harry. She just worries. You know you’ll meet someone right for you eventually, yeah?”

That was easy for Bill to say; he and Fleur were perfectly suited. Harry was far more pessimistic about his romantic prospects. Every date he went on seemed to fail, every possible relationship fizzled. The _Prophet_ may have insinuated that Harry's bisexuality meant even more people had a chance with him, but to Harry it just meant that many more chances to strike out.

“Everyone I meet seems to think I’m someone I’m not. It’s hard to get to know someone else when they assume they already know _you_ ," he told Bill, unable to keep a wistful note from his voice.

Bill smiled sympathetically. “You _have_ lived most of your life in the public eye. But you’re not doing yourself any favours. You travel all the time, you’ve plenty of opportunity to talk to new people.”

Harry gave Bill a weak smile. “How about I try harder with the people I already know, yeah? I’ll see you Sunday.”

* * *

The sword yielded none of its secrets back at the shop. Harry couldn’t shake the notion that there was an enchantment laid on the blade, but Cho didn’t feel anything.

“I don’t have your talent for sensing magic, Harry,” she said as she turned the sword this way and that. “No one does, really. And these runes are absolutely baffling. I’ve cross-referenced every dictionary I have, and there are some similar languages, but no exact match. Didn’t Luna point you to this site?”

So later after dinner, Harry found himself calling Luna on the Floo. She tended to work all night, so he knew he wouldn’t be waking her.

The fire flickered as Luna answered. “Oh, hello Harry. I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

“Hey, Luna. How are you?”

“Oh, very well. I’m working on a new story about Mottled Marvellenes for the next issue of the _Quibbler_. Have you heard of them?”

“Er, can't say that I have. Look, I wondered if you found anything else about the Devonshire site in that journal, the one about the search for the, the…”

“The Vospul Bat nesting grounds?” Harry nodded as if he understood. “No, I’m sorry, Harry. There wasn’t anything else. Why, did you find the site?”

“I did. There were some small items, cups, rings, that sort of thing. And a sword engraved with runes I can’t understand. They don’t seem to be in any books.”

“Oooh, a mystery.” Luna smiled dreamily. “Why don’t you ask Draco for help?”

Harry blinked, sure he'd misheard. “I’m sorry, you mean Malfoy?” It felt strange to say that name again after all these years, the vowels rounding in Harry’s mouth like the words to a long-forgotten song.

“That’s the only Draco I know. Why, is there another? That would be interesting.”

Harry shook his head in confusion. Luna still spoke to Malfoy? He’d always assumed — not that he thought about Malfoy ever, of course not — that the other man had slipped off to live in whatever manner high society pure-bloods did, far away from Harry’s social circles. He’d nodded sharply at Harry once after his trial, a brief yet definitive thanks for the testimony, and then vanished from Harry’s life. Which was jarring, now that Harry considered it; Malfoy had been a presence for seven years, then suddenly just… wasn't. How would Harry speak to him after all this time?

“Why ask him for help? Is he some sort of expert on swords?” He imagined Malfoy fencing, a proper stuffy sport for a rich brat like him.

Luna cocked her head. “You didn’t know? Draco translates things. He’s helped me with a lot of old books. Naturalists sometimes like to write in code so they don’t give away secret locations of animals.”

"As like… a hobby?" Malfoy didn't need to work a day in his life after all.

Eyes wide, Luna stared at him in that way that made Harry feel as if he were a particularly interesting specimen of Wrackspurt. "As a career."

"Huh." Harry tried to picture it: Malfoy bent over a dusty book, blond hair falling into his face, tongue poked out like Hermione's when she was concentrating on a particularly challenging puzzle. His mental image made him blush hotly. “Don’t you know anyone else?”

“Sorry, Harry. Draco is the best because he studied with several different people instead of concentrating on one ancient language. He’s also an expert cryptographer.”

Expert was exactly what Harry needed, although he privately doubted Malfoy fell into that category. Luna was often too kind in her assessment of people. Still, if Harry didn't cover every avenue, he wouldn't feel as if he'd done a proper job.

“I suppose it won’t hurt to call him,” he said hesitantly, rather sure it would end up hurting somehow — his pride, or maybe his face if Malfoy was in a hexing mood. “The Manor, right? Do you have his Floo address?”

“Hmm, that’s very private, Harry. He's left the Manor. I do have his actual address, if you’d like to stop by. He prefers not to receive owls.”

Of course Luna would think it was less private to show up on Malfoy’s doorstep rather than just call him. “Fine, where is that?”

“In Surrey. I have it written down, give me a moment.”

“ _Surrey_? Why does he live in Surrey? What happened to the Manor?” Luna simply shrugged mysteriously.

“That's not my story to tell. You'll have to ask Draco.” She smiled serenely. “I’m sure he’ll be just as pleased to see you. You have so much to catch up on.”

 _Pleased_ wasn’t exactly how Harry would have described it. Still, he couldn’t ignore the small frisson of excitement that ran up his spine. As soon as Luna had mentioned Malfoy, Harry found his interest piquing as it used to. Last time they’d been face to face, Malfoy had looked so young and yet old beyond his years, and both exhausted and relieved. Had he changed much since then?

* * *

The address Luna provided was near Dorking, to Harry’s relief. Bad enough he had to return to Surrey; if Malfoy had ended up in Little Whinging he would have called the whole thing off. The street was well-appointed, but decidedly Muggle, which only added to Harry’s confusion as he approached the house and braced himself.

Knocking on Malfoy’s door shouldn’t be so hard. He wasn't intimidating, or threatening; he was only Draco Malfoy, coward and first-class snob, right?

The door itself was painted a light shade of green, and the mat out front read _Wipe Your Paws_. The knocker seemed handmade, a collection of mismatched ceramic flowers, but was sturdy enough when Harry used it. After a moment the door swung open but no one stood behind it.

“Come in,” Malfoy’s posh voice echoed from the knocker, startling the hell out of Harry. “I’m in the study just off the top of the stairs.”

The house was cosier than Harry would have expected from Malfoy, and strewn with even more books than Hermione’s own little library in the house she shared with Ron. The stairs were easy to spot, through the sitting room, and Harry ascended them cautiously. Why didn’t Malfoy come down to greet him? Did he not actually mind Harry traipsing through his home? Harry found himself growing more curious as he came to the top of the stairs and turned the corner into an office.

Malfoy sat at a desk in the corner, scratching a quill along one piece of parchment while surrounded by several others, including a pile on the floor. He didn't look quite as Harry had briefly imagined — there was no dust on any books, and no tongue to be seen — but his hair _was_ loose and falling in his eyes. No longer pointed and pinched looking, the past few years seemed to have settled onto Malfoy’s angular face quite well. He glanced up, seemingly unsurprised to see Harry, then went back to whatever he was writing; he appeared nonchalant, but his foot was tapping nervously.

“Hullo, Potter,” he said without looking back up. “What can I do for you?”

Before Harry could get a word out, the pile of parchment seemed to explode outwards, scattering papers across the room. Malfoy didn’t budge, but Harry, already on edge, jumped about a foot in the air as a large reddish-coloured cat ran past his legs and into the hall.

“Was that a cat?” Harry asked dumbly. Of course it was a cat, he saw it with his own eyes. He just didn’t think of Malfoy as the cat-owning type.

“That’s Rhubarb,” Malfoy explained patiently, as if he saw this kind of scene several times a day. “He likes to hide under the parchment. Probably decided to check the food bowl for a tiny piece he possibly missed, not that he didn’t check an hour ago, and an hour before that. He’s never been one to be dissuaded by the concept of mealtimes. Now as I said, what can I do for you?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted a second time by a sneeze at his feet. It was another cat. Another one! This one was grey with white patches, and rather skinny. It looked up at Harry balefully, then sneezed again, this time on his trainers.

“Cardamom,” Malfoy said, anticipating Harry’s question. “He isn’t feeling well.” That was an understatement; the cat looked older than Crookshanks and was wobbling slightly. Having inspected the new house guest to his liking, the cat turned around and slowly made its way back down the hall.

“Are you busy?" Harry gestured to the parchment on the desk. "I can come back.” Malfoy arched a brow, and Harry finally noticed the _reading glasses_ perched on the tip of his nose. Malfoy looked like a little old lady, in glasses, surrounded by scrolls and cats. Had he really become a mild scholar in the years that had passed?

“I wouldn’t have told you to come up if I was too busy. Are you going to get to it, or do you want to gawk at my cats some more?”

Nope, still Malfoy.

"I'm done with the cats," Harry grumbled, moving further into the room. Malfoy swivelled around in his chair and gestured for Harry to take a seat that he didn’t notice before, a plush green one in the corner. The entire room looked rather comfortable, in fact, from the chairs to the soft knitted jumper Malfoy wore — and to Harry’s discomfort, he was rather handsome in it.

"For the third time, what brings you here to interrupt my work?"

"I just _asked_ if you were too—"

"I'm always busy, Potter. I'm in demand." Malfoy's face was smug, although it didn't make him ugly the way it did some men. "The level of my work is low enough that I may entertain whatever strange request you likely have for me, but make no mistake, I _am_ working."

"I knew you had work,” Harry huffed. “I just didn’t think you actually… worked. Do you even have to?”

Malfoy flushed. “You think I spent all that time in my practicum, choking over dust in various libraries, to just lie about the Manor? I don’t even want to set _foot_ there, I—” He stopped speaking abruptly, and Harry felt he’d been about to reveal more than he intended.

All he managed to say was, "Dust, eh?"

Malfoy looked at him strangely. "Yes, quite. Now get to it."

Right. Harry wasn’t here for a social call. “Luna says you’re a translator now. I need something translated.”

“I’m not a run of the mill ‘translator,’ Potter. If you’ve found some common book you need parsed into English, there are better people for the job. Less skilled people.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “This isn’t common. I don’t even know what language it is. Looks like runes of some kind, but Bill didn’t recognise them, and they aren’t in the standard references.”

Malfoy arched a brow. “Non-standard runes? You need to look further than translation books, then, into biographies. Many wizards historically developed their own systems of writing for taking notes.”

“It’s not notes on parchment. They’re on a sword.”

That seemed to catch his attention for real, and Malfoy leaned in, a swoop of blond swinging in his face. “A _sword_ you say? Is it ornamental? Ceremonial? Functional or not? Is it—”

“I took a photo at the shop. Here.” Harry handed over the photograph, and their fingers brushed. He drew back quickly, but Malfoy didn’t seem to notice as he watched Harry in the photo show the front of the sword, then the back, looping infinitely. He studied it carefully for a long moment, and Harry thought he might have seen a hint of pink tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

"You should have brought a Muggle photograph."

Harry was sure his mouth must be hanging open. "Muggle?" _Who are you and what have you done with Malfoy?_

"Yes," Malfoy continued, blissfully unaware of the crisis happening in Harry's head. "It's difficult to concentrate on the runes with your hands turning the sword this way and that. Nice polish by the way," he threw out casually, imploding Harry's world further.

"Thanks," Harry answered faintly. "I let Teddy paint them to match his."

"My cousin?" A strange expression passed over Malfoy's face, longing and regret and nostalgia all mixed up. Harry could only nod. There were decades of family issues hidden in that look, and it wasn't something he felt comfortable addressing. Still, it was one more facet of this new Malfoy to catch the light, slowly illuminating the person he'd become.

Malfoy shook his head as if to clear it, and turned his attention back to the photograph. “I’ll need to examine this in person. Placement of letters, intent of use, these things matter in decoding. May I handle the sword? It’s not cursed, is it?”

“You just saw a photo of me holding it, Malfoy.”

“Yes, but you are so often the exception to the rule.”

Harry blinked. “I — OK, yeah, I could bring it by.”

“I can come to your shop, if you like.”

“Would you really — how do you know I have a shop?”

“Everyone who has even glanced at the _Prophet_ the past few years knows you have a shop, Potter. It’s lovely to see the papers never lost their enchantment with you.” Malfoy smirked, adding, “Also you literally just told me you took that photo _at your shop_.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine. Yeah, come by. I just didn’t think you’d want to. I’ve haven’t seen you in Diagon lately.”

"Merlin, Potter, I'm not a shut in. I leave the house. I just don't see any reason to socialise with old friends, or make new ones, really.”

It was probably for the best that Malfoy didn’t speak to anyone he’d called a friend in the past. “Just you and the cats?”

“Don’t let them hear you call them ‘just cats,’ you’ll end up with a hairball in your shoe.”

“Good thing I didn’t take them off at the door, then.”

“Yes, your ability to be a complete boor continues to astound me.” Malfoy waved in the direction of the door. “And now you’ve overstayed your welcome, so toddle on back to whatever deadly task awaits you this evening. Pulling teeth from a dragon or some such, I’m sure.”

“Jealous?” A strange glint in Malfoy’s eyes told Harry that he’d hit the mark.

“Just be ready for me tomorrow. I’ll come by at eleven.” He swung back around in his chair dismissively, sleek hair following his face a moment behind.

“Fine.” Harry rose to his feet and made his way back downstairs, mindful of any cats. He was annoyed that he needed Malfoy, but even more annoyed that the prat had turned out _cute_ , and so many things about him now had Harry wildly curious. He couldn’t follow him around using a map now that they were adults — he’d just have to wait to see him at the shop.

* * *

Telling Lavender and Cho that they could expect a visit from Malfoy did not go exactly as Harry planned.

"So what you're saying is he's fit."

"I — _what_?" Harry sputtered. “Everything I told you, and _that's_ what you conclude?"

Lavender giggled, looking up from the portrait she was retouching. "Most of what you told me was how he looked. Merlin, Harry, I know you like a pretty bloke as much as I do, but I never thought you'd go for Malfoy."

Harry leaned against the wall, crossing his arms sulkily. "I'm not 'going for' him. I just said he looked different."

"Yes, with, and I quote, a _Healthy glow, and his hair's grown out, kind of in his face._ "

The old man that Lavender was giving a touch up laughed under her brush. "You've got it bad, son."

"Oh, shut it," Harry grumbled. "What do you know? You haven't been shagged in a hundred years." The wizard made an indignant noise, and Lavender glanced at Harry with a smug smile.

"I never said anything about shagging. Interesting that's where your mind goes."

Harry pushed off the wall with a huff and stalked out of the room. "You'd better behave when Malfoy shows up," he threw out over his shoulder. Lavender shared a secret look with the old wizard. She would do no such thing.

Cho wasn’t any better. “I thought you gave up following Malfoy at school,” she noted dryly, using a small pick that she’d charmed with a permanent _Lumos_ to probe around the inner workings of a music box.

“Not you, too,” Harry groaned. “Look, Malfoy supposedly knows his stuff, so we’ll have him examine the sword and that’s it.”

“Whatever you do, don’t you _dare_ start hexing each other in here,” she warned, pointing the illuminated pick straight at Harry. “You’ll hit something volatile and blow us all to bits.”

“I’m not going hex him, and I’m not going to shag him!”

Cho went back to her work with a smirk. “Who said anything about shagging?”

A ring of the bell above the door put an end to their banter, signalling the arrival of the topic at hand. Malfoy was dressed in a silver trimmed travelling cloak, wearing what appeared to be snakeskin boots. It was a far cry from the comfortable scholar look he’d sported in his own home. Harry supposed the display of wealth was Malfoy’s own sort of armour, donned especially for venturing out in Diagon.

“Potter, Chang,” Malfoy nodded at them both. “Where should I hang my cloak?”

“Oh, er, there’s a hook on the door behind you,” Harry said, uncharacteristically nervous. This was _his_ territory, he should be on more solid footing. This was all Lavender and Cho’s fault, for teasing him. Now he wasn’t going to be able to look Malfoy in the face without thinking of _shagging_ him.

Underneath the cloak, Malfoy was more as he’d been at home — grey knitted jumper, pressed trousers. He approached the counter expectantly. “Well, let’s see it, then.”

“Ah, right.” Harry waved at the door, turning the sign to _Closed_ with a wave. “It’s just back here.” He led Malfoy to a small office that was used as a storeroom, filled with various items obtained on his travels around the world. Malfoy glanced around, obviously impressed but trying not to show it.

“Quite the collection you’ve got here. I suppose the _Prophet_ wasn't lying about all your adventures. This certainly isn’t your average repair shop, is it?”

“The _Prophet_ isn’t the best source of news usually, but yeah, I see a fair bit of excitement. Unlike you.”

Malfoy bristled. “I already told you, I’m not a shut-in!”

“No, but I had no idea what you were doing these past years. Never heard one word about you.”

“Not all of us can be fame seekers like you, Potter.” Malfoy crossed his arms and began to lean back against the shelves, then jerked upright as he thought better of it; they were jammed full and looked about to tip over any moment. Harry had been meaning to clean up in here. He glared at Malfoy, and crossed his arms as well.

“It isn’t for _fame_. I don’t care if anyone else even talks about what I do!”

“In that case you’d have no customers.”

“The repair and disenchantment services are separate from my expeditions. People recommend me based on word of mouth, on results. Not any kind of fame.”

“What exactly made you decide to pursue this line of work anyway?” Malfoy asked, running his hand along an embossed silver plate. “I’d figured you as an Auror. Didn’t you start training?”

Harry looked away, not wanting Malfoy to see the discomfort on his face. “This was a better fit,” he said shortly, approaching a table. “Here, this is it.” He pulled back a cloth to reveal the sword. Malfoy whistled lowly, and reached out to tentatively lift it.

“It’s no Sword of Gryffindor, is it? Rather dull. Not well balanced, either.” Despite insulting the blade, Malfoy seemed curiously pleased to be holding it. He took a few experimental swipes at the air as Harry jumped back.

“I didn’t bring you here to go do battle with it! I just want to know what it says.”

“Right.” Blushing, Malfoy put the sword back down and leaned in close. “You weren’t lying, these are unusual symbols. They aren’t true ‘runes’ at all.” He felt in his pocket for something, and drew out a small pair of glasses, which he perched on the end of his sharp nose. “I can tell right away that whoever engraved them was used to writing in a rounder script, like Latin, and on parchment—”

“Wait, how?”

“By the way the strokes are constructed.” Malfoy pointed to one corner of a rune, but Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at. “Someone used to writing in an angular runic alphabet, like Anglo-Frisian for example, would have gone about this all differently. That means it’s likely of a later period, after Latin became common. Perhaps someone tried to make up their own runes based on an older script.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Plenty of reasons. Keeping secrets only among those who know the symbols, breaking away and starting their own community, amusement. And that’s before getting into the magical properties of creating alphabets — it’s like sigils, they can be imbued with power.”

Harry stared at the sword with a newfound appreciation. “Can you feel it, then? That sort of… pulse? I’m not quite sure how to explain it.” Malfoy stared at him strangely. “Right, guess it’s only me, then.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who needs to socialise more. You’re beginning to converse with your artefacts.” That hit a bit close to home. Harry clenched his fists as Malfoy continued to peer at the runes, stroking them this way and that. The look of wonder on Malfoy’s face had Harry softening a bit. It was obvious the prospect of a mystery to solve had piqued his interest

“Why’d you become a translator anyway?” Surely there was a story there.

“I’d consider myself more of a linguist. And because… translating something for the first time, or breaking the encryption on a code — it’s a puzzle, but all in the mind. Nothing to explode or harm me, like Curse-Breakers deal with. And nothing…” Malfoy bit his lip. “Nothing that harms other people.” Abruptly Harry thought of the Vanishing Cabinet that Malfoy had worked so hard to repair.

Now Harry thought he understood. Malfoy appreciated a challenge, but nothing too high stakes — his younger days had been filled with life or death decisions, after all.

“Do you think you can translate it, then?”

“Decipher, really. And possibly. I need to consult several of my own books. May I take this with me?” Harry gestured toward the sword with an open hand.

“That’s fine.”

Malfoy looked a bit surprised, as if he’d been expecting Harry to deny him, and wrapped the sword back up. “I appreciate your trust,” he said softly.

They emerged back out into the front room to find Lavender and Cho looking suspiciously idle. “Any luck?” Lavender asked eagerly. Malfoy eyed her with a wary expression.

“It’s going to take some research.”

“Will you and Harry be working together?” Harry made a face at her from behind Malfoy, trying to get her to shut up.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “No? Potter asked me for help precisely because he has no idea what he’s doing.”

“I know a bit,” Harry grumbled. “I could tell they were runes.”

“They aren’t, in fact. Were you listening?”

“Maybe he was distracted,” Lavender supplied. “It’s rather easy to catch his attention with something new and shiny.” She could have meant the sword, but Harry knew what she really meant, and aimed a rude gesture at her behind Malfoy’s back. He remained blissfully unaware and went for his cloak on back of the door.

“I’ll Floo the shop to let you know how it’s going,” he said politely, pulling the silver-trimmed hood up and hiding his distinctive hair.

Suddenly, Harry knew what would happen. Malfoy would take the sword back to his home, pore over it until he’d teased out whatever secrets it held, then return it and go about his way. Harry would have no cause to see him again. For some reason this didn’t sit right with Harry; he was still curious about so many things. _Why a neighbourhood where owls would be suspicious? And why the cats?_ Harry found himself stepping forward.

“We could talk about any progress you’ve made next weekend, if you like.”

Malfoy shook his head. “I’d rather not put a time limit on it, these things have a way of being more complicated than expected.”

“No, I mean… Gin’s got a game, I have tickets. If you haven’t seen a Quidditch game for a while… Might be nice.” Behind the counter, Cho’s eyebrows flew up, but she remained silent.

Malfoy opened his mouth, and Harry knew from his pinched expression that the answer would be no. But just as quickly, he closed it, and almost shyly glanced away.

“I suppose I could stand some fresh air.”

“Great!” Harry nodded, perhaps a bit too vigorously. “I’ll stop by your place and we can Apparate together.”

As soon as the door closed behind Malfoy, Lavender giggled maniacally and darted back to her workshop. Cho turned to Harry. “What was that?! Did you just ask Malfoy out on a date?”

“What? No!” Harry reddened. “I just… I haven’t seen him in so long, it could be nice to catch up.”

“You were hardly friends, Harry.” As if he needed to be reminded.

“He seems different, that’s all.”

Cho rolled her eyes. “Seems like he grew into his arse, you mean.”

“That’s _not_ what I mean,” Harry said firmly. He hadn’t even looked at said arse. If Malfoy had grown into his face, that was another thing entirely. “It might be good to have a working relationship with a translator, anyway.”

“Whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night.” Cho returned to the music box, but not before adding, “And whatever you tell Ginny when you show up at her game with Malfoy.”

Oh. Oh, _bollocks_.

* * *

Over the next week and a half Harry second-guessed his invitation to Malfoy until it was the only thing on his mind. What had come over him? The Saturday of the game he found himself reading _Wipe Your Paws_ again, still filled with doubts and anticipation.

The doormat made more sense to Harry this time around. He used the ceramic flower knocker, and Malfoy’s voice issued forth again. “I’ll be right down.”

He appeared in the doorway with the same travelling cloak, although without the fancy boots, and an anxious expression. His voice didn’t give away any nerves, however. “I’m ready to leave if you are.”

“Yeah, course. That’s a neat trick with the knocker, making it talk like that. Why flowers?”

“Luna made it, you’d have to ask her. My voice is simply a projection spell. Since I can’t set wards to be open to certain guests, I have to rely on the door to tell me who is here. It’s an easy thing, just combining a remote viewing spell with the projection and _Alohomora_.”

“Why can’t you set wards?” Harry asked as Malfoy turned to lock the door behind himself, their proximity a bit close on the small porch.

Malfoy looked at him strangely. “I’m not allowed to. My probation?”

“Still?” Malfoy’s trial seemed like a distant memory to Harry. He’d been exhausted and depressed in the aftermath of the war, and only testified because he’d been requested to do so by Malfoy’s solicitor. He did remember how quiet Malfoy had been when he appeared before the Wizengamot, to everyone’s surprise pleading guilty. His soft grey eyes had widened when he heard the sentence of probation, but that had been his only expression aside from a nod and muted “thank you” in Harry’s direction before he was led away.

“Ten years term, Potter. I’m not allowed wards beyond basic Muggle-repelling charms, and I can’t travel out of the country. Can’t hold a Ministry position, either, but that’s no trouble as I’d never want one. I’m also not allowed to work with restricted substances or creatures requiring a permit.”

So Malfoy wasn’t allowed to leave Britain. Maybe that was why he seemed so jealous of Harry’s expeditions. “Is that why you didn’t go into Potions, then? I’d always imagined it was your favourite subject.”

“If the war had never happened, I wouldn’t have gone into anything at all. Dabbled in politics, maybe, but Malfoys don’t _work_.” The way he said ‘work’ with a sneer gave Harry the impression he was quoting someone else. Maybe Narcissa didn’t like seeing her beloved son living so far away and holding down a job like a commoner.

"At least it seems like you enjoy your job?"

"I do," Malfoy agreed.

“Any luck so far with the sword then?”

Malfoy froze. “I… I haven’t been able to come up with anything, no.” He seemed worried. Harry shrugged it off easily.

“No matter. Let's still enjoy the game.”

Draco faltered, hand still on the doorknob. "Are you… sure you want to show up with me? In public?"

Harry still _wasn’t_ entirely sure, but not for the reasons Malfoy seemed to assume. “I don’t much care what people think of me, you know that. Come on.” He stuck his elbow out for Malfoy to tentatively grasp with warm fingers, and Side-Alonged them both to the game.

The Harpies’ pitch had two Apparation points, one for the public and one for invited guests of the team. Harry was allowed to use the latter, and noticed Malfoy eye him sceptically, almost disappointed, at their isolation, as if Harry had been lying. To prove him wrong, Harry tugged him by the wrist through a small crowd of other player’s friends and families.

“Come on,” Harry told him. “I should say hey to Ginny before we sit down.”

“You don’t have to manhandle me, Potter.” Still, he didn’t pull away.

Ginny was laying one final coat of polish on her broom, her mouth set in a determined line. Not for the first time, Harry was glad that he hadn’t gone into Quidditch professionally. The Harpies only signed female players, so he would have never been her teammate — and facing Ginny Weasley across a pitch was a tough challenge.

She caught sight of Harry and lit up. “You came! I wasn’t sure if you would, I thought you’d be…” Her words trailed off as she noticed Malfoy behind him, still held loosely by the wrist. Harry flushed and yanked his hand back.

“…busy trying to figure out that sword. I’m sorry, is that Draco Malfoy?” Her fist tightened slightly around the broom handle.

“Er, yeah. Just thought I’d say… uh, thanks for the tickets! And hello!” Harry smiled a bit too wide. Malfoy remained wide-eyed behind him, and totally still except for a small wiggle of the fingers that Harry thought might be an attempt at a wave.

Ginny’s eyebrows flew up. “Wait, are you here _together?_ ”

“It’s a plus one ticket,” Harry shot back defensively.

“You don’t think Malfoy is a negative?”

“I’m standing right here,” Malfoy complained, before snapping his mouth shut again. Apparently his snarky tendencies overrode even his fear of a Bat-Bogey Hex.

Ginny blinked, her eyes darting between the two men. “Right. Harry, can I talk to you a moment?” She motioned for Harry to follow her around the corner to the equipment room.

“What are you doing here with Malfoy?” she whispered urgently. Harry thrust his hands in his pockets and tried to look nonchalant.

“He’s working with me on the sword. Luna recommended him. He’s a translator now, did you know that?” He glanced at Malfoy around the corner to see if he’d taken umbrage at being called a translator again; it seemed as if Harry and Ginny were out of earshot, luckily.

“I see.” Harry realised that she didn’t look angry. She looked _intrigued_. “Because for a moment I thought you were on a date.”

“Why does everyone think I want to shag Malfoy?”

“Who said anything about shagging?” Ginny grinned wickedly at Harry’s blush. “You’ve got a type, Harry. “

“We really are working together,” Harry complained. “I mean, yeah, he turned out fit but I wasn’t — I mean — ugh!” Ginny had a way of extracting even his deepest secrets from him.

She cackled, then craned her neck to peek around the corner. “He’s alright, I suppose. Less pointy at least.” She sobered, turning back to Harry. “But can you trust him, Harry?”

Harry scoffed. “He lives in a house filled with books and never goes out. He has _cats_. I think he’s going to end up like Mrs Figg if he isn’t careful.”

“So this is what, charity? You’re one to talk about never getting out.” She pulled a face. “Oh no, you’re _bonding_ with Malfoy about being anti-social and lost in your work, aren’t you? This is terrible. I’ll be invited to a wedding before the year is out.”

“Stop it!” Harry whacked her lightly on the arm; she stuck her tongue out at him. “I just want to know what makes him tick. He’s living in _Surrey_ , for Merlin’s sake.”

“You’ve _always_ wanted to know what makes Malfoy tick,” Ginny pointed out. “Honestly, this puts so much into perspective.”

“Don’t you have a match to play?” he grumbled. A shadow fell over her; Harry recognised it as her game face.

“I do.” She strode back into the hallway to fetch her broom. “You’d better be cheering for us, Malfoy,” she threw out over her shoulder as she went to join her team.

“Well, I’m certainly not cheering for the Wasps,” he muttered. “Potter. There you are. May we take our seats? That was quite rude to leave me unattended.”

“Why, Malfoy? It’s not like we’re on a date.” Harry's own awkwardness about that word was worth it just to see Malfoy turn a brilliant shade of red.

Their seats were in a prime spot, and as the match commenced Harry found it easy to ignore the strange looks he and Malfoy received from the other spectators in the box. Malfoy kept an eye on the action, but he also tapped his foot nervously, and Harry caught him glancing over surreptitiously several times. As the Harpies lead increased, Harry took a moment to finally sate his curiosity about all things Malfoy.

“Strange to be cheering for the same team, innit?” he asked.

Malfoy snorted. “As I recall, you and Weasley supported the Cannons in school. Unless that ghastly shade of orange was your idea of high fashion.”

“I’m more of a Bats man myself these day. Ron still hasn’t forgiven me.”

“Ballycastle? Middling at best. Although their Seeker is rather—” Malfoy turned away abruptly — “excellent on a broom.”

“He’s fit, yeah,” Harry responded easily, enjoying the pink spots on Malfoy’s cheeks. “That’s not why, though. I actually got to know the team while I was up north last year. They were expanding their pitch and dug into a catacomb full of animated skeletons.”

“Skeletons?” Malfoy forgot the game. “Real ones? People call you for that sort of thing? Were they cursed?”

“No, but the spells to enchant them hadn’t been used for about a thousand years. I’m not a Curse-Breaker, that’s a little delicate. I just deal with obscure and dangerous things in my own way.”

Malfoy snorted. “Brute force, you mean. You probably blasted those skeletons to bits.”

“Er…” Harry brought a hand up and ran it through his hair; the wind had already undone any small bit of style he’d managed. “I found the spell to stop them, but _Bombarda_ was easier, yeah.”

The wind had mussed Malfoy’s blond hair as well, and it blew in his face attractively as he laughed. “I’d expect no less from you.” He gazed out over the pitch, towards the action but not really paying attention. “Is that exciting, then? Uncovering other people’s long lost secrets?”

“It’s challenging, and it’s satisfying when I win,” Harry answered truthfully. “I think I’d be restless if I didn’t have a job like that.”

“And why not an Auror?” Malfoy asked quizzically. “You said it wasn’t a good fit?”

“I didn’t feel like being sent out against people anymore,” Harry said quietly. “I’m good at solving puzzles, and I’m good in a fight, but this way it’s just me versus whatever crypt or cave or ruin with a rumour around it.” He didn’t bring up the impact that Dark artefacts had on his life, on his desire to see them destroyed or otherwise neutralised.

Draco regarded him seriously. “Yes, that makes sense,” he finally responded. A sudden loud cheer directed their attention back to the field, where the Harpies’ Seeker was diving towards the ground. Both Harry and Malfoy leaned over to see if the Snitch was about the be captured. Their shoulders brushed, and neither pulled away. Harry found himself leaning just a bit farther than he had to.

The Snitch, if it had ever been there, disappeared, and the Seeker rose back into the air. Both Harry and Malfoy sat back upright in their seats. Harry didn’t think he was imaging the the way Draco had shyly bitten his lip at their close contact.

Was Malfoy _attracted_ to him? His friends’ teasing and his own appreciation aside, he hadn’t really considered it an option. _I just felt like spending some time around him, not asking him out_. But now that he’d noticed Malfoy’s reactions, he couldn’t _stop_ noticing them.

Another close call with the Snitch, another moment they were leaned against each other. Both reached for a snack that Harry purchased, and their fingers brushed. When they moved aside for another spectator, their knees pressed together for longer than necessary.

Harry started going a bit mad.

“You must like secrets, too,” Harry offered, trying to restart the conversation. Malfoy startled at that.

“I — what do you mean?” His eyes darted back and forth.

“Just, translating things. That’s a puzzle. What’s the most difficult thing you’ve ever dealt with?”

Malfoy relaxed a fraction. "Anything that turns out to be in a language I'm not familiar with. I had what appeared to be a simple Greek inscription several months ago, but it made no sense. Turned out whoever wrote the grimoire used Greek letters, but was actually writing in Basque. It's an isolate language. Felt brilliant when I cracked it."

"What did you think I meant by secrets?" Harry asked curiously.

"Nothing," Malfoy answered evasively.

"I won't tell anyone about your weird cats," Harry teased.

"My cats are not _weird_ ," Malfoy sniffed. "They have perfectly understandable issues. All three of them were rescued."

"Wait, three? I only saw two, the reddish one and the old one."

"Saffron only shows herself to those she has judged sufficiently worthy."

"You _would_ have a snooty cat, wouldn't you."

Malfoy only smiled, his lips curving up. Harry stared at his mouth for one long moment before turning back to the pitch. They spent the rest of the game in pleasant conversation; there seemed to be a very flirty undertone to everything Malfoy said, and Harry was only happy to return it.

The Harpies’ Seeker was eventually victorious, capturing the Snitch and putting the Wasps out of their misery. Harry stood to go, as did Malfoy.

“I suppose I’ll send an owl when I know anything more about the sword,” he said hesitantly.

“Is there anything I can do to help, anything at all?” Harry just wanted to see him again.

Malfoy seemed to mull it over. “You could draw me a diagram of, or at least describe, the site you found it at. Perhaps context clues will be of use.”

“I can do you one better!” Harry exclaimed, the idea coming to him in a flash. "Let’s go up, make a weekend out of it. You want to see my ‘adventurous life,’ yeah?”

“I…” Malfoy baulked, but Harry could tell he was tempted. “I suppose I could. I’m not prohibited from travelling within the bounds of the country. Is there much to see?”

“In all honesty, it’s pretty empty, but it’s still interesting,” Harry assured him. “And I didn’t go over the whole place in detail, so I’d like another look around.”

“Is it dangerous?” He sounded more excited than frightened, but still hesitated.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry grinned, taking a chance on his first name; the immediate blush was well worth it. “Live a little. The cats won’t miss you for a couple of days.”

“Days?” Malfoy — Draco — squeaked. “With you?”

 _Oh, yes. With me_. Harry still wasn’t sure if they were _really_ flirting, or just teasing each other, but it was just so much fun.

“Scared?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You wish. Next weekend, then?”

“Next weekend. And pack light,” Harry instructed. “You’ll see why when we get there.”

“Pack for what?” Both men whirled around to see Ginny hovering on her broom, still flushed from the match.

“I’m taking Draco out to the Devonshire site.” If Ginny was thrown off by the use of first names, she didn’t show it, but she did fix Draco with a vaguely threatening stare.

“I’m sure you’ll both have fun, and come back in one piece, right?” Draco nodded furiously, stepping behind Harry. “Good. I need to join the victory lap. See you Sunday, Harry.” She zoomed off toward her teammates and Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re frightened of her,” Harry pointed out with amusement.

“Am not,” Draco huffed. “I just don’t fancy having bats fly out of my nostrils.”

“She won’t hex you if you behave.”

A glimmer appeared in Draco’s eye. “When have you known me to _behave_ , Potter?” He scrunched his nose at the pointed look on Harry’s face. “Oh, don’t tell me you expect me to call you _Harry_ now.”

“So I’ll see you on Saturday, _Draco?_ ” Harry couldn’t ignore the butterflies in his stomach; this was beyond meeting up to discuss mutual business, beyond a friendly outing at a match. This was a trip — and it felt like a date.

Draco made a show of appearing to mull it over. “I suppose I can make time in my busy schedule, _Harry_.”

“Cheers, then. I’ll see you at yours. Maybe I can meet that third cat.”

* * *

At lunch on Sunday (his second in as many weeks; Molly could be terrifying when she wanted to be) Ginny had grilled him mercilessly for details on his budding — friendship? — with Draco. Harry didn’t have much more to tell her. He’d talked more about himself during the game, he realised, and had learned very little new information about Draco’s life. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco was hiding something — a familiar enough feeling, given their history, but one Harry wasn’t happy to revisit.

Still, he’d promised a visit to the site, and he did rather enjoy Draco’s company. Maybe Harry would be able to uncover his secrets this time around.

Draco stood on his doorstep, a well made leather satchel over one shoulder under his cloak. Harry craned his neck to look past him into the comfortable looking home, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive third cat.

“Saffron needs her beauty sleep,” Draco said, yawning. “Much like I do. Why did we have to leave so early?”

 _You don’t need beauty sleep at all_ , Harry thought privately. “We can’t Apparate directly into the site. There’s an Anti-Apparition field surrounding it.”

“Placed by whom? I thought this site had been abandoned for a long time.”

“I never figured that out, actually. Once I had the chest, I thought it was best to get it open as soon as possible. There was definitely a strong energy around it.”

“Energy?” Draco frowned.

“You’re full of questions for supposedly being so sleepy,” Harry teased. “Come on, I’ll tell you all about it on our walk.”

“Walk?!” he tried to exclaim, but Harry was already holding him by the arm and pulling them away. They appeared with a _crack_ in the middle of a moor. “We have to walk there because of the field,” Harry explained. “It’s five miles out.”

Draco looked mutinous. “Five miles? Why couldn’t we use brooms?”

“There are too many Muggle farms. The Statute is pretty strict around here. Wizards haven’t lived in the area for a long time.”

“I didn’t realise adventure would be quite so taxing. Are you _sure_ we can’t use brooms?” he wheedled. “Just fly very low?”

“Nope. We’ve got a couple hours hike ahead of us.” Harry was already marching forward.

“Malfoy’s don’t hike,” Draco sniffed, a shade of his old spoiled self returning.

“Well, they do today. Look, are you coming or not?”

Draco sighed reluctantly, but he fell into step beside Harry as they set off for the base of a high tor. After several minutes of silence, Draco was the first to speak. “So, tell me more about this place.”

“Luna was researching some kind of creatures, and came across the journal of a magizoologist from the 14th century who mentioned coming across a cairn and a few standing stones in the middle of an Anti-Apparition field somewhere around here. He’d already hiked pretty far into the field and had to stay overnight. There wasn’t anything for miles on any modern map so she knew I’d be interested."

“Did you ever see any of whatever creature she was looking for?” Draco asked while glancing around nervously. Harry laughed to himself, recalling for a brief moment Draco’s fear in the Forbidden Forest when they were children.

“It was some kind of bat, and you know Luna. It probably doesn’t exist.”

Draco bristled. “Luna isn’t stupid. She may be a bit more credulous than some, but I assure you she is meticulous in her research. And if you are referring to Vospul Bats, they are _quite_ real.”

Chagrined, Harry stopped walking for a moment. “I’m sorry. You know I respect Luna, right? I guess all those years of listening to Hermione brush her off made me a little doubtful. And I mean, _I’ve_ never seen a Nargle or anything.”

“I’ve never seen a Nargle either, but Vospul Bats are well documented. They migrate to Scandinavia for the winter, but no one is sure where they breed in spring yet. The fact that they Apparate makes them even harder to track. Considering how valuable their guano is in certain potions, it would be a breakthrough to find their nesting grounds.” Draco took a deep breath. “Also, Luna is one of the only people who talked to me while I was completing my studies. She gave me a chance, and forgave me after… well. You know. I think I might be a hermit if it weren’t for her encouraging me to make connections with others in my field, or facilitating job offers for me. So you can see why I’m a bit defensive of her.”

“Yeah.” Harry quietly considered Draco for a moment. He wasn’t at all surprised at Luna extending a hand of friendship to Draco — that was just in her nature. But it must have taken a lot for Draco to overcome his pride and even his guilt to become friends with her, when he’d considered her an object of ridicule at school.

Harry inclined his head towards the hill. “Come on. Maybe we’ll see some evidence of bats to report back to Luna. I was here before in winter, after all.” Seemingly satisfied, Draco followed.

“So, tell me about the other things you found here. It wasn’t just the sword, right?”

“No, there was a chest, with a few rings and torcs, and silver chalices. The whole crypt was pretty empty, which was weird to me. If someone took the time to dig out the hillside and reinforce it with stone, why only leave one chest inside?”

“And there were no bodies?”

“No! Not even evidence of any. No bones, no mummified flesh, not even any wrappings that would indicate a body had been there once.” Draco shuddered visibly at the mention of bodies.

“Do you find those often?”

“What, bodies? Of course, I go into tombs. I’m always very careful not to disturb them. Sometimes a grave site will have to be moved because of Muggle development, but I let the local authorities handle that. I’m not a tomb robber.”

“Why did you take this chest, then? Or any relic? No judgement, it’s abandoned as far as I’m concerned. Just wondering.”

Harry had asked himself this very question. “When things are simply buried, and the owners are long gone, International Magical Law considers them up for grabs. It’s looser than Muggle law, actually. Wizards have a penchant for hiding magical objects in all sorts of places. It’s Muggles that mostly just bury things in graves.”

They scrambled over a Muggle fence that was probably meant to keep cattle off the neighbouring property, and Harry gestured around them.

“Some of this land might be mined someday. I actually asked the farmers for permission to hike through first, and they thought I was there to buy land. Got pretty excited about it, too. When I found the chest, I thought about what might happen in the future, and decided to take it.”

“I’m surprised no one found it already. An Anti-Apparition field doesn’t do anything to keep Muggles away, and it only makes travelling for Wizards inconvenient.” Draco wrinkled his nose and held up the edge of his cloak. “See? I’ve snagged the hem on that blasted fence.”

“That’s why I don’t wear anything fancy.”

“You could have told me it would be this _rustic_.”

“Would you have listened?” Harry asked, bemused. Draco pursed his lips, but didn’t argue, which was all the answer Harry needed.

Halfway through their hike they stopped under a single, lonely tree and ate lunch. Harry had planned ahead and packed sandwiches, fruit and a thermos of tea. He passed a cup to Draco, who stared at him patiently, not taking a sip.

“What’s wrong? It has a Warming Charm on, I promise.”

“I take two sugars. Please tell you brought some.”

“Oh.” Harry blushed. “I already put that in.”

“How did you know I took two sugars?” Draco asked suspiciously. Harry only shrugged. _I know because I’ve been remembering all the things I used to notice when I watched you at school._

After lunch they continued in companionable silence, only occasionally remarking on some aspect of the scenery. As they drew closer to the site, Harry started to feel uneasy.

“Do you… feel anything?” he asked Draco.

“No. Should I?” Draco caught sight of Harry’s worried expression. “What? What is it? Have you got us lost?”

“It’s not that. I just haven’t noticed any trace of the Anti-Apparition field.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You can’t _feel_ an Anti-Apparition field. You have to use a detection spell. Or try to Apparate, but that usually stings — hey!” He startled as Harry disappeared in front of his eyes, and began looking around desperately. “Harry? Where did you go?” When Harry failed to reappear, Draco grew more frantic. “Potter! You can’t just _leave_ me out here!”

With a _crack_ , Harry appeared once more, several feet away. Draco darted over and slapped him on the arm. “Don’t do that!”

Harry rubbed his arm with a wince. “That smarted.”

“Oh really? That’s nothing compared to the shock you’d get if there was still a field!” He paused. “Wait. Why isn’t there a field? Where did you go?”

“To the site. I got right up beside it. The field’s gone, though I have no idea why.”

“What powered it in the first place?”

“I never figured that out. Come on, I’ll Side-Along you there.”

“You mean we could have skipped all this _walking?!_ ” Draco’s indignant shout was cut off as Harry pulled him along to the site.

The entrance to the small underground chamber was hidden behind a riot of bushes and heather. “Come on, through here,” Harry instructed, moving a stone slab aside and making his way down the sloping entrance. Draco followed behind more cautiously.

“It smells _awful_. What is that?”

Harry peered into the darkness, confused. “It didn’t smell like that a few months ago.”

“And you’re _sure_ there’s nothing dangerous down here?” Draco had his wand out, Harry noticed.

“Nothing at all. Would you mind giving us some light?”

“ _Lumos_!” Draco’s voice was confident, and the a ball of light rose to the ceiling, lighting their way. The chamber was mostly hard packed dirt, with rough-hewn stones holding up portions of the wall. Harry pointed at a turn off the main tunnel.

“The chest was over there.”

“Not in the main area? That’s interesting. So it likely wasn’t the centrepiece. Why are there so many little dead ends here?” He gestured to the empty turns and niches they were passing.

“Could be more things were meant to be buried here, or those could be baffles. Usually a trick passageway in a place like this will have a curse or a trap, though, and there weren’t any.” They turned down the side passage that had once held the chest, ducking under the lower ceiling.

“There,” Harry said, pointing at a low stone dais partway down the narrow hall. “That’s where the chest was sitting.”

“Hmm.” Draco approached, examining the stone. “No carvings or anything of the sort, at least not on top. Let me see the sides.” The ball of light didn’t illuminate the floor very well, so Draco cast another _Lumos_ , this time directed downward. “Here!” he said excitedly. “Look here!”

Harry set his wand on the stone and crouched down, looking where Draco was pointing, right at the base of the stone. “I didn’t see that before.”

“It’s very faint. It isn’t carved, see, just a bit of faded chalk. It’s Latin.”

“Can you read it?”

“Honestly. Why they didn’t teach Latin at Hogwarts I’ll never know. Yes, I can read it. It says _hīc pōne centrum_. “Place centre here.” It’s just an instruction, probably left by whoever built this place.”

“Centre? But this is where the chest was.”

“Usually the word _centrum_ is used in magical literature to imply the focal point of a spell.”

Harry lit up. “The Anti-Apparition field! The focal point must have been here, where the chest was.”

“So _that’s_ what ‘centre of power’ means,” Draco muttered to himself.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, nothing. But yes, by removing the chest it looks like you broke the spell.” Draco reached down to gently brush some dirt away from the chalk markings. “Just think,” he said in a hushed voice. “Long ago, some witch or wizard touched this very stone, and now here we are.”

Harry watched Draco touching the stone reverently, and felt a rush of warm affection. As the smaller ball of magical light hovered near the ground, it occurred to him that it was much darker than he remembered. “Draco? Do you think you could direct the light over here, near my feet?”

The floor was bathed in light, and Harry noticed that the entire ground was covered in a dark substance. “What is that?” he wondered out loud. Draco nudged the ground with his toe, and a look of disgusted realisation came over his face.

“Guano. Bat shit. Ugh, it’s all over my shoes.”

“That’s new. I guess I didn’t seal the place back up very well. They must have come in through a crack in the door.” The conversation earlier came rushing back, and Harry gasped. “The bats! The ones Luna was looking for! You said they can Apparate!”

“Vospul Bats?” Draco eyed the guano with less disgust, and then gasped as well. “That’s why there was a field! It doesn’t keep people out very well, but kept out the pests! The Vospul Bats must nest in the hills around here, they don’t need an entrance to the caverns since they can just Apparate inside! Whoever built this place must have known they’d fill it with guano if they could get in.”

“And now they have,” Harry laughed. “Apologies to whoever built it. Luna’s going to be pleased, though. I can’t wait to tell her.” He tapped his foot on the floor. “Didn’t you say this stuff was useful in potions? Why don’t you take some?”

Draco frowned. “Vospul Bat guano is regulated and restricted. I’m not allowed to possess it.”

“Oh.” Harry flushed, looking away. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Draco answered, but he was clearly embarrassed. He paced away, looking around. “They certainly went to a lot of trouble just to protect some random valuables. You’d expect somewhere with protections like this to have more powerful artefacts, or bodies.” He stopped by the back wall, behind the dais. Harry hadn’t ventured that far before. “Look over here. In the back.” He peered closer at the wall, and Harry came up behind him.

“More chalk? What’s it say?”

“It says… _dēclīvis_.”

“What?” Harry leaned closer, bracing his hand on the wall beside Draco’s.

“Down.”

“Down?”

Suddenly the floor gave way.


	2. Chapter 2

When the dust cleared, Harry was lying on top of Draco, who was facedown on the ground. He scrambled up, coughing.

“Draco! Are you OK?”

With a groan, Draco sat up. “Fine, I think.” He patted himself, and winced as he brushed some dirt off his cheek. Harry could see a nasty scrape there. “What happened?”

“Well, you said ‘down.’ I think we went down.”

“Very astute of you.” Draco managed to find his feet. “Did you see where my wand fell?”

“ _Accio!_ ” Harry called out, before realising that he hadn’t paid attention to what wand Draco had been using. It certainly wasn’t his old Hawthorn wand, which was locked in a box in Grimmauld Place. Nothing happened, so Harry tried to Summon his own wand, which he knew was lying on the stone dais above. “ _Accio!_ ” Again, nothing. Concentrating, Harry could feel the faint hum of a magic dampening field in the chamber. _Just our luck_. “We can’t use magic,” he informed Draco, whose expression turned from one of admiration at Harry’s confident use of wandless magic to one of apprehension.

Harry fumbled in his pockets for the Muggle lighter he kept for emergencies, having been caught up in anti-magic spells fairly often in his career. “I don’t see it. You must have dropped it upstairs when the floor gave way” As Draco shook his head, upset, Harry raised the lighter and took a look around. “Oh, Merlin.”

“What?” Draco squinted in the dim light. “ _What?_ ”

“I think we found why this place was protected.”

In three niches cut into the wall were three skeletons wrapped in decaying shrouds. Their empty eye sockets gazed blankly out, eternal grins on their faces. Draco made a high pitched sound and practically danced away from them.

“They can’t hurt you,” Harry reassured him. “They’re dead.”

“You’re the one who had to fight enchanted skeletons before!” Draco whispered urgently, as if the bones could hear him. “What if they aren’t as dead as you think?”

Harry cautiously approached one of the skeletons and, ignoring Draco’s protests, poked it with his finger. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but who knows what else is down here.” Draco watched as Harry moved the feeble light all around the chamber, and groaned when it appeared to have no exit. “How are we going to get out?” he demanded.

“Just calm down, let me think.” Harry could see the faint light from their previous spells through the hole in the ceiling. They had fallen around fifteen feet. “It’s a wonder we didn’t break any bones,” he said to himself. That didn’t allay Draco’s fears.

“This is your fault! You told me it wasn’t dangerous!” He began pacing, his breath shallow and fast. “I should have known that trouble follows you everywhere you go. I’d been rid of you, Potter, rid of you and every other meddlesome pest in my life, dragging me into peril. I should have stayed put! I should have never answered the door!”

Stung, Harry couldn’t help but fire back. “I should have known this was too easy. You’ve been what passes as nice for you long enough, eh? Back to being a whiny coward?”

Shaking, Draco clenched his fists. “I’ll climb on _you_ to get out if I have to.”

“I bet you would. Just because you aren’t acting like a bigoted little shit anymore doesn’t mean you’re any less of a selfish arsehole, apparently.”

Draco pointed one trembling finger at Harry. “You’re the one who keeps _touching_ me!”

This wasn’t how Harry wanted to address that subject. “You didn’t seem to mind! You touch me right back!”

“Come over here and I’ll show you touching!” Contrary to his threats of violence, Draco slumped against the wall. “I’ll die here and no one will know. My mother will be beside herself. Who’s going to feed the cats?!” he wailed.

“Calm _down!_  I’ll get us out of this! Panicking won’t help, you know.”

“Just because you aren't out saving the world anymore doesn't make you less of a self righteous prick,” Draco muttered, arms wrapped around himself.

Harry grit his teeth and concentrated on their predicament. No wands, no _Levicorpus_ , no Summoning. No Apparating, no Patronuses. He closed his eyes and stretched out his ‘sixth sense’ as Hermione called it. If he were very still, he could feel —

“What are you doing?”

“Be quiet.”

“Are you trying to figure out how to apologise? I’ll help. ‘Draco, I’m so sorry that I — '”

“Be _quiet_!” Harry stamped his foot, aware that he was behaving like a child. “I’m trying to think!”

“Are you sensing magic?” Even through his fear, Draco was curious. “Like when you said you could sense the Anti-Apparition field?”

“Yes. And I need you to leave me alone for a minute.”

“That’s weird, you know. You’ve always been a freak.”

Harry shot him a murderous glare. “Fuck you.”

“I…” Draco was obviously taken aback by the vitriol in Harry’s voice, and he glanced away guiltily. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

Taking one deep breath, and then another, Harry tried to be understanding. Draco was scared, and he was acting out. “Thank you. Just give me a moment, OK?” Draco nodded, lips pursed, and Harry went back to it.

 _There_. The dampening spell was faint, with a weak quality that suggested to Harry that it was fading. In fact…

“I think the spell here probably went along with the Anti-Apparition one. That one has already worn off, and this will soon, too.”

“How soon?”

“Not soon enough for us, probably. But the good news is, it’s so weak that I think the two of us working together will be able to overcome it. How’s your wandless magic?”

“Terrible,” Draco admitted miserably

“When’s the last time you tried?”

“The last time I didn’t have a wand.” He looked at Harry pointedly.

“Oh. Right. Well, we’ll do something easy.” Harry flicked the lighter off as he'd need both hands, and Draco inhaled sharply.

"Does it _have_ to be dark?" he asked desperately.

Sighing, Harry clicked the lighter again. "No, but you probably won't like this." He pulled a small handful of fabric from the feet of one of the skeletons, silently sparing a thought for whoever this long-dead person was, and laid the clump of cloth on the floor. "This won't last long," he warned, setting the cloth aflame.

Draco's eyes were wide and frightened in the firelight, but he stood firm. Harry approached him carefully. “Give me your hands.”

Hesitantly, Draco placed his hands in Harry’s. They were clammy, and still slightly trembling. Harry squeezed them gently, noting how soft they were.

“OK, so I want you to think about how it feels when you Summon something with your wand. Concentrate on that feeling, but imagine it in your fingertips instead of the wand, alright?”

“Whose wand are we going for?”

“What is yours made of?”

“Larch and unicorn hair.”

“Unicorn again?” Draco looked at him strangely. “Right,” Harry stammered. “I don’t think I’ve ever held one of those, but let’s concentrate and—”

“Let’s do yours.”

“Oh?”

“Holly and phoenix feather, right?” Draco wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “I wager I know your old one better than you know my new one. Let’s just get on with it.”

Harry took one more moment to appreciate the handholding. "Ok, so concentrate on reaching your magic out for my wand, but imagine it reaching out _with_ mine. Like our magic is holding hands as well." Draco nodded, his eyes closed and a blush spreading over his cheeks.

Slowly but surely, Harry could feel the tingle of Draco's magic alongside his. Instead of concentrating on _Accio_ , Harry pushed at the weak field, trying to force their magic through. It took ten minutes, and they were exhausted by the end, but eventually with Harry's skill and Draco's added strength, they were victorious.

Harry snatched the wand out of the air as it sailed towards them. Draco, clearly relieved, kept hold of his other hand.

"Are we trying to levitate, one after the other?" he asked.

"We need to work together for any spell to push through the field, so we can't separate like that."

“I am fair at Transfiguration. May I?"

Harry held his wand out, but instead of taking it, Draco stepped back and began pulling his belt from his trousers.

"Wha- what are you doing?" Harry stammered as Draco's trousers loosened, and a strip of pale skin was revealed.

"Making a rope. Why, Harry," Draco teased. "Do you really think I'm that easy?"

 _If only_. Harry laughed nervously. "Course not. I figure you require a rather fancy dinner before… that."

"Let's get out of here, first.” Now Draco did take Harry's wand, and dropped the belt on the floor so they could hold hands once again. "Lend me your power like before."

Fingers entwined, they concentrated their magic together, as Draco transfigured his belt into a long rope, then put a Sticking Charm on the end.

"That won't last in this field,” Harry warned.

“Doesn't have to,” Draco countered. “Levitate it with me." The rope went sailing through the hole in the ceiling, out of reach of the magic dampening field, and affixed to the wall of the chamber above.

"Clever."

Draco smiled at Harry's praise. “Now let's just hope my trousers don't fall down while I climb."

* * *

Fit or not, climbing straight up a rope was arduous. Harry was grateful he kept in fair shape, but his arms still ached. Draco was worse off than him, panting by the time he reached the top. “That’s what you get for being a layabout,” Harry joked.

“Very funny. You can’t tell me you aren’t exhausted after all that, especially your magic.”

“I am,” Harry admitted. “Not sure I can Apparate all the way back home. I’d likely splinch myself.”

“As would I. What now, then? Do we rest here?” Draco eyed the empty chamber dubiously. “I’d rather not find any more hidden surprises.”

Harry was already planning ahead. “Do you think you can make it a few miles, back to the nearest town? I stayed overnight at an inn last time, since I had to walk in and out.”

“A few miles should be alright. A Muggle hotel, is it? Is it nice?”

“A bed and breakfast, really. And it’s nice enough, your highness.”

Their Side-Along was wobbly, and Harry was grateful they hadn’t attempted any further. As it was, they had to appear on the outskirts of town so they wouldn’t be seen materialising out of thin air. By the time they arrived at the small bed and breakfast, they were both completely worn out.

The man who answered the door recognised Harry. “Hullo sir! Came back during a nicer season as I recommended, eh? And with a friend?”

Harry smiled. “Er, yeah, it is more pleasant here in spring, like you said. We were hoping to stay here for tonight.”

The man nodded eagerly.” I have one room left, a suite with a king-sized bed and fireplace, quite lovely. Breakfast is of course included.”

 _One room. One **bed**_. Harry let his imagination run wild, all sorts of scenarios coming to mind in the one second before he looked over at Draco, only to find the other man nervously shifting from one foot to the other. Did he not want to share? Did it make him uncomfortable? Flirting didn’t mean he immediately wanted so spend the night together, after all. Harry hastily tried to correct the innkeeper.

“Oh! We’re not… we’re not. Um. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply… we wanted two rooms. Are you sure there’s nothing else?” Draco’s eyes narrowed, as if he were offended Harry was asking. _Make up your mind, did you want to share or not?_ Harry couldn’t very well ask him in from of the innkeeper, who was frowning.

“I’ve only one that’s free.” He noticed the tension between Harry and Draco, and hurriedly added, “But I can place a cot in there at no extra cost!”

“Please, don’t trouble yourself,” Draco interjected smoothly. “Don’t worry about a cot. We’ll take the room as it is.” Harry numbly acquiesced.

The room was much nicer than the single Harry had rented the last time. The bed was piled with pillows, and the window looked out onto the town square, giving them a lovely view of the sunset.

“The nights get a bit chilly, so there is wood in the fireplace. I trust you two know how to use one?” Both Harry and Draco affirmed they wouldn't burn the place down, and the innkeeper left them for the night.

Now alone, Harry stood on one side of the bed and Draco stood on the other. Neither spoke as they looked at the mattress, thick and comfortable looking, or the blankets, temptingly soft. Finally Harry _had_ to ask.

“Why didn’t you let him put a cot in here? Aren’t you tired?”

Draco snorted. “There was no need to wait for that poor old man to lug a cot up here. We can Transfigure this into two beds. We’re wizards, remember?”

“Ah.” _So he doesn’t want to share, after all._

Draco picked up on Harry’s disappointment. “Why, did you think we were going to snuggle?”

“I don’t know what I thought—”

“Because you were the one so desperate to make sure he knew we weren’t a couple.”

“What? No, you — I thought you were offended that he assumed —”

“ — I wasn’t sure if _you_ would be offended that he assumed —”

“Why would I be offended?”

Draco didn’t have an answer for that. “I suppose you wouldn’t,” he admitted. “I’m not stupid. I can see you’re interested. I’m just used to… I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”

“And are you?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“Am I what?”

 _Go on, do it, find out once and for all._ “Interested.”

Blinking in confusion, Draco asked, ”Can you honestly not tell?”

“I didn’t want to be wrong.”

Silence stretched over the bed between them. “I’m going to take a shower,” Draco said abruptly, and made his way to the ensuite, shutting the door.

Harry exhaled, unaware he had been holding his breath. “He’s so confusing,” he muttered to himself, flopping down on the bed. His muscles were aching, and it really was quite comfortable.

* * *

Harry awoke to the feel of the mattress dipping down beside him. It was dark out, but the fire was burning, and he could see Draco silhouetted against the flames.

“Sorry, I must have dozed off.”

Draco smiled down at him. “It’s fine. That may have been the longest shower I’ve ever taken. I could still smell the guano in my nose.”

“Oh. Should I…?”

“I took the liberty of casting a _Scourgify_ over you. I didn’t want to wake you, you seemed so… peaceful.” Harry didn’t think he was imagining the longing in Draco’s voice.

“Thanks for lighting the fire. Did you want me to move so you can split the bed up?” Draco didn’t answer. “Draco? Is everything OK?”

“I don’t know.” Harry waited but he didn’t elaborate. Instead he stared into the fire, elegant fingers idly tracing a pattern on the bedcovers.

“So you _don’t_ want to split up the bed?” Harry asked carefully.

“I’m not exactly sure what I want.” Draco said, almost to himself. “That’s my eternal problem.”

“I don’t understand—”

Harry’s words were cut off as Draco leaned down and unexpectedly kissed him.

Overwhelmed, Harry arched up into kiss. It was warm and Draco’s lips were soft, and he nearly lost himself in the feeling. But through his still sleep—fogged brain and rising libido, he managed to pull back and ask, “What are you doing?”

“I told you, I’m not stupid.”

“But you didn’t answer me before.”

“Harry.” Draco’s stare was intense in the firelight, straight into Harry’s soul. “You aren’t stupid, either.”

Harry _wasn’t_ stupid, and he wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity, even if it seemed too good to be true. Reaching up, he cupped Draco by the back of the head and pulled him down again. It was easily the most exquisite kiss Harry had ever experienced. Draco was both forceful and responsive, biting at Harry’s lip in a possessive gesture one moment, then gasping in pleasure as Harry’s tongue slipped into his mouth. Harry almost didn’t want to end it, but he also wanted to see how far Draco wanted to go.

Harry wriggled out from under Draco and rolled him onto his back, never breaking the kiss. His hair was still damp, and it stuck to the pillow beneath him in wet strands, a darker shade of blond than when dry. He hadn’t bothered to dress again, and was still wearing the robe provided by the inn. Harry pushed it aside in the front where it gaped open, exposing one pink nipple. He glanced up at Draco, looking for the the go-ahead. Draco’s eyes were closed, his mouth open, face enraptured. “OK?” Harry whispered. Draco nodded breathlessly, and Harry nipped and licked at the bud until Draco was shivering. He tasted delicious, his skin clean from his shower but with the hint of sweat beginning to form in the warmth from the fire, and the heat building between them.

Draco whined impatiently, and sat up; Harry backed away, worried he had moved too fast, but Draco only shrugged the robe off and laid back down, pulling Harry with him. His legs were still tangled in the fabric, but Harry was sure he wasn’t wearing pants. He escaped Draco’s grasp long enough to fling his own shirt somewhere in the corner.

Down to his trousers, Harry pressed his now prominent erection against Draco’s hips, and felt an answering hardness. They rutted against each other, hands wandering everywhere, quickly getting carried away. Harry’s belt dug into his skin, and he pulled his trousers off, managing to barely break the kiss. They moved together as if they were fucking, and suddenly Harry wanted to very, very badly.

“Do you want to?” he asked Draco. He didn’t have to specify what he meant; the friction of their cocks rubbing through the diminishing layers of fabric was hint enough. Draco wrapped one leg around Harry in response, murmuring his assent into Harry’s neck, his breath tickling a spot just under Harry’s ear that drove him wild.

“How do you like it?” It didn’t matter to Harry, he enjoyed it all.

“Don’t care,” Draco panted. “Either way.”

“Me too. Don’t care, I mean.” Both possibilities were tempting, and that was just the beginning of what they could do. Now that Harry had been presented with Draco's desire, he wanted to slake his thirst for him, over and over. Merlin, how long had it been since anyone had touched him like this? _Too long_ , Harry thought.

“I got very, very clean in the shower,” Draco whispered suggestively in his ear, before nibbling on it. Harry shuddered, his hips twitching in anticipation.

“Yeah, alright.”

Harry reluctantly backed off, running his hand over the one leg that was bared to him. Slowly and deliberately, he unwrapped the robe from around Draco’s hip, exposing the rest of his body. His cock was flushed rosy pink at the tip, peeking from the foreskin, and Harry licked his lips.

“Don’t just admire me, Potter,” Draco said breathlessly. “And those pants have to go.”

“Can’t help it if I like the view.” Unable to resist, Harry leaned down and swiped his tongue over the precome that was beading up, drawing a sudden noise from Draco. Harry vowed then and there to keep making him sound like that.

Deftly, he manoeuvred his pants off. Draco came up to his elbows to try to catch a glimpse of Harry’s cock, dark and heavy between his thighs, but as Harry leaned down and licked him from root to tip, Draco fell back against the pillows with a moan. Harry kept him occupied, alternating licking and sucking, worrying the slit with his tongue, while he felt around beside him for his wand on the bed. Once it was in hand, he tried to remember the best spell for lube, but then thought of a better course of action.

Harry lay his wand down and used both hands to push Draco’s thighs up and apart, exposing him. Draco bit his lip and threw his arm over his face, as if he were embarrassed, but he nevertheless spread his legs wider. Harry left off the (rather excellent, if he were any judge) blowjob and kissed his way down Draco’s inner thigh, beneath his balls, and between his spread cheeks. Draco smelled of soap and musk, and Harry eagerly lapped at his rim.

He wasn’t sure what he liked better: the taste or the delirious noises his actions elicited from Draco.

Allowing Draco’s legs to go boneless over his shoulders, Harry sucked and licked until the puckered hole opened enough for his tongue to dip inside. Harry considered taking his time, bringing Draco to the edge repeatedly until he begged, but his own cock was throbbing, and the thought of being inside the tight heat that his mouth was currently enjoying was too much to resist.

Picking up his wand once more, he conjured a palm full of lube and slicked up two fingers. They easily breached Draco, one after the other, through the slick and spit as Draco pushed back at him eagerly.

After only gasping and groaning while Harry ate him out, Draco spoke for the first time in several minutes. “I’m ready. Fuck, Harry, I’m _ready_.”

 _Am I ready?_ Harry wondered, but Draco’s face was open and wanting, and Harry didn’t want to keep him waiting.

Inch by inch, Harry pushed inside Draco until they were flush against one another. Draco’s muscles were taut, his fingers clenched on Harry’s biceps nearly to the point of pain, but his legs tightened around Harry’s waist.

“More.”

Harry began fucking him at a slow pace, but Draco shook his head desperately. “I said _more!_ ” Harry kissed him hard on the mouth and gave into his demands.

Neither of them were going to last long, Harry could tell. It had been a long day, and the adrenaline mixed with constant sexual tension and arguments made for potent mix of lust and need. They alternated between kissing and panting into each other’s mouths, eyes locked. Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so close to someone else during sex — the slide of their sweat-slicked skin, Draco’s cock trapped between them, their breaths mingling as one. With unexpected force, Harry’s orgasm hit him from out of nowhere, and he came with a guttural shout.

“Please, please,” Draco begged, still moving beneath him, trying to fuck himself on Harry’s still-hard prick. Extricating himself from Draco’s tight grasp, Harry knelt, still inside Draco, and took hold of his cock, wanking him while still fucking him with a last bit of strength. It was enough; Draco came with a low cry, several spurts of come arcing up over his chest and stomach.

Unable to hold himself up on his trembling knees, Harry slipped out of Draco’s wet heat and fell beside him, trying to catch his breath. Draco went limp, legs akimbo, not bothering to care about the sticky mess he was covered in. He managed to turn his head towards Harry, his stunned grey eyes tender yet wary. Harry wanted to reassure him, but found himself at a loss for words. Exhaustion was quickly taking hold; he managed to link their fingers before sleep claimed him once more.

* * *

Shadows moved across Harry’s closed eyes. He thought maybe he was dreaming, until he realised there were noises associated with the shadowy shapes flickering back and forth. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking in the sunlight streaming through the window, and fumbled for his glasses. He slid them on and saw Draco bustling around the room.

“Morning already?”

Draco jumped at Harry’s voice. “Indeed.”

“I hope we didn’t miss breakfast,” Harry yawned. “What time is it?” When he didn’t get an answer, he sat up. “Draco?”

“It’s only 7 am. Breakfast isn’t for another hour.”

“Oh. Well, come back to bed, then.” Harry patted the covers beside him. He’d enjoyed last night immensely, and wondered if he could get a repeat before breakfast. _Now that I know what I’ve been missing, I want it again._

Draco stood stiffly beside the window. “Back to bed?”

“Yeah, come here.” Now more awake, Harry sensed the tension in the room. “Is something wrong?”

“You want me back in bed,” Draco repeated.

“Yes? Is that… a problem?”

“Why?”

“Why is it a problem?” Harry was confused,. It was too early for this.

“No, why do you want me back in bed.”

“I just thought…” What _had_ he thought? “Maybe we could fool around a little before breakfast, maybe.”

“I see,” Draco answered in a clipped tone.

Harry sighed and flopped back on the bed. He should have known Draco would be just as impossible to decipher after sex as he was before it. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’ll see you at breakfast.” That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

“At breakfast? Am I dismissed, then?”

“What the fuck, Draco?” Harry threw the covers off and looked around for his clothes; he apparently wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. Draco flushed and turned away from Harry’s nudity. Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing you didn’t see last night.”

“I’m well aware of what happened last night.” Draco didn’t sound nearly as pleased about it as Harry had felt only moments ago. “You had me, and you’re done. That’s fine. But I really should be going.”

“I think we had each other,” Harry muttered, finding his trousers and pulling them on. “And going where?”

Draco waved a hand. “Home. Wherever. I’ll Floo the shop about the sword.” He picked up his small bag, which he’d apparently been repacking as Harry slept. He made for the door, but Harry stepped in front of him, still shirtless.

“Wait,” he said, attempting to be calm.

“Move.” Draco looked over Harry’s shoulder rather than directly at him. “And put some clothes on.”

“I think,” Harry said cautiously, “we may have moved too fast.”

Draco gaped at him. “You think? You _think?_ Merlin, Potter, you’ve been back in my life for less than a month and I’ve already let you fuck me!”

“ _Let_ me?” Harry lost his attempt at staying calm. “Look here, Malfoy — ”

“Back to _Malfoy_ already?”

“You just called me _Potter!_ ”

Draco began pacing. “I’ve got my life set up how I like it, you know. I don’t need all this. You’ve this desperate need for new things, I was just next on your list of conquests.”

“I’m sorry, I have _what?_ ”

A quick look of regret flashed on Draco’s face, but he continued. “I read the _Prophet_ , I’ve seen the photos. I don’t know what I expected, you never stay in one place long anyway.”

“I _hate_ those photos!” Harry seethed. “I don’t date anyone for long because it all goes tits up as soon as that starts! I’d _love_ to have a more steady relationship!”

“When? When you deign to be in Britain? You know I can’t leave the country, I’m perfect for a quick shag!”

“You wanted it!” Harry shut his mouth quickly. “I mean… you wanted it, right?”

“Don’t be a martyr. Yes. I wanted it. But… I shouldn’t have.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with it,” Harry flung back, offended. “Are you not out?” No way was Draco inexperienced, last night had shown Harry that.

Draco snorted, offended. “That’s none of your business.”

“If we’re going to do this, I think it _is_ my business!”

“Do what? Shag again? I think that would be ill-advised.”

“I don’t know, go to breakfast together? Go to dinner? See each other?”

“ _See_ each other?” Draco laughed incredulously. “Are you serious?” Harry crossed his arms and glared; Draco took a step back. “Merlin. You _are_ serious.” For the first time that morning, he began to look truly doubtful. “I thought…” He shook his head. “No. We couldn’t.”

“I guess not,” Harry said glumly. “But _why_ not?”

“Harry,” Draco sighed. “Look at us.” He gestured back and forth between them. “We’d tear each other apart. Look how we fight, even after all this time.”

“You woke up ready to argue!” Harry protested.

“I woke up unsure what to think!”

“Why did you set into me straightway, then?”

“Because the first thing you asked me was to _come back to bed!_ I saw what you wanted from me!”

“No the first thing I _asked_ was about breakfast.” Draco’s mouth snapped shut. Harry was right, and he knew it.

“I think I should go.” He sidestepped Harry, who let him pass.

“But… breakfast,” Harry said lamely. Draco paused, his hand on the doorknob, then squared his shoulders.

“See you around, Potter.”

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Ginny told him the next day.

“Go on, tell me what you really think.” Harry’s voice was muffled; he sat slumped at Ginny’s kitchen counter, face in his arms, tea untouched.

“I think you’re an idiot,” she repeated bluntly. “That boy is obviously skittish, and you jumped right into bed with him.”

“He’s not a boy. He’s the same age as me.”

“He’s a boy. You’re a boy, you’re both boys and you’re both stupid.” She poured a chalky grey powder into a jug and began shaking the concoction. “Cho would agree with me, and Luna and Lavender. Don’t make me owl Hermione to get a consensus.”

“Don’t you dare interrupt their honeymoon. Anyway, Ron would never let me live it down. Rejected by Draco Malfoy.” Harry kicked at his stool. “No one’s rejected me since school,” he complained.

“Maybe he and Cho can form a club.” Ginny ignored his glare and stopped shaking, then poured the now green slurry into a mug. Harry wrinkled his nose.

“Ugh, what _is_ that?”

“Protein shake. Gwenog has us all bulking up before the finals.” She took a seat beside Harry. “Look, was he right? Did you get what you wanted from him?”

“I mean, I _did_ want to sleep with him. He’s fit.”

“And…?” Ginny cocked her head. “What else? It’s not like you to move so fast.”

“I was enjoying his company. He’s so clever, you know? And he’s still sharp, but his edges are softer somehow.” Harry took a sip of his cooling tea, and continued. “He gets this little glint in his eye when he’s learning something new. It makes me want to show him the world.”

“Oh, gross. You’re totally into him.”

“Fuck, I am, aren’t I?” Harry hung his head. “What do I do, Gin?”

“Well, you could have been better at reassuring him, I suppose. But it sounds like he didn’t give you much of a chance.”

“He was pretty quick to assume the worst, yeah.”

“And that’s not OK. But I think Malfoy probably has less people he can trust in his life than you do. He’s scared of being vulnerable.”

Looking back at their night together, Harry could see she was right. He _had_ noticed something was up with Draco. But Harry, presented with something he desired, had been so eager he hadn’t stopped to think.

“Should I try and talk to him? I don’t want to just end up arguing again.”

“You need to both apologise to each other. Don’t take all the blame yourself. But yeah, you’re the Gryffindor, I suspect you need to make the first move.” She took a sip of her protein shake and nearly gagged. “Sometimes we have to swallow things we don’t like to get what we want.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh, do we?”

“I meant _your pride!_ ”

* * *

Harry did swallow his pride, and made his way to see Draco after giving him another couple days to cool down. Ginny had the right idea; he and Draco both had things to explain, but someone needed to take the first step.

The flowers didn’t speak when Harry knocked, and he wondered if Draco was even home. He’d cleared his schedule for the afternoon (earning twin smug smiles from Cho and Lavender) so he could afford to wait a bit. He sat down on the front steps, contemplating how long he should stay there before it counted as stalking.

“Are you really going to sit on my stoop until I answer?” came Draco’s annoyed voice. Harry scrambled to his feet.

“I just want to talk. May I please come in?”

There was no reply, and Harry wondered if he should have begged a little more. But no, that wasn’t any way to approach this. Finally Draco appeared at the door with a neutral expression.

“I suppose you’ve come for your sword, then. It’s in here.”

“I can come inside?”

“You’ll have to. That’s all I need, for the neighbours to see me waving sharp objects at people.”

Harry followed him inside to the sitting room, which was more cluttered than he remembered. Rhubarb sat on a stack of books, his tail twitching back and forth. _Great, even the cats are mad at me._

“It’s on the table.” Draco gestured listlessly to the low table by the sofa. Harry didn’t pick it up.

“I like your house, you know,” he began.

“Do you now.”

“I’d wondered why you live here. Not anymore, though. It’s obvious you’ve made this a place of your own. The books, the cats.” He gestured at Rhubarb. “You don’t hide the things you care about.”

“Is that why you’re still standing in it? Here,” Draco picked up the sword himself and handed it, hilt-first, to Harry. “You can leave now.”

Stung, Harry took the sword wordlessly. Once he grasped it, he frowned; only the faintest traces of magic remained. It would likely be gone in only days.

Draco watched him curiously. “Do you still feel anything from it?” There it was. That glint in his eye, when something caught his interest.

_Curiosity may have killed the cat, but maybe it can win the cat owner back._

Ugh, that was terrible. Harry reminded himself to never tell that one to Ginny.

“It’s almost gone,” he offered.

“How exactly do you sense magic, anyway? I couldn’t tell there had ever been a spell on it at all, not even with _Revelio._ ”

“Are we talking then?” Harry said without answering his question.

“Now he wants to talk," Draco muttered, turning away and idly scratching Cardamom beneath the chin; the rickety old feline glared at Harry from his perch on the armchair.

“I'm sorry,” Harry offered. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I'd been feeling, that night, before things got so heated.”

“It's fine, Potter. We're both adults. You didn’t have to _tell_ me you wanted me; I could read the situation. We were attracted to each other and acted on it.” He still wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “It's fine,” he repeated.

“No, that's not what I was feeling. I mean, _yes_ , I'm attracted to you, that's obvious from what we — and that night we — er, yeah.” He noticed Draco’s mouth twitch into an involuntary smile, amused at Harry’s stammering. “But from the first time I came over here… I dunno, you're still _you_ , but there's so much more to you than I expected. And I wanted to puzzle it all out.”

“I'm not some ancient tomb with a map and a treasure, Harry.” _Harry. That’s progress._ “I'm…”  Draco gave up stroking the cat and sat down heavily on the couch. “I’m well aware that I’m a difficult person. It's just hard sometimes. I've been alone for a while.”

“Me, too.” Harry took a risk and sat down on the couch beside him.

“It's different for me, and you know it,” Draco said softly.

True, Draco didn’t have the friends or support system Harry had. “Why don't you live at the Manor anymore?” Harry finally asked him.

Draco pursed his lips. “How do you sense magic?” he repeated instead of answering.

_Right. First moves._

“I was under a… spell, of sorts. When Voldemort was alive.” Harry wasn’t going to fully explain the Horcrux that had been inside him, not today at least. “Hermione thinks I can feel magic now because it was so prolonged.” Her full explanation had been more along the lines of Harry’s soul being attuned to magic in a way most witches and wizards were not, that he had been connected to someone else’s magic for so long it was easy for him to connect to _any_ magic. Harry didn’t like to think about Voldemort still affecting him, but he had to admit it had proved useful numerous times, so he had come to think of it as a silver lining.

Draco screwed his face up. “That’s both repulsive and useful.” Harry laughed at his candor.

“My thoughts exactly.” He looked at Draco expectantly; he’d been honest, now it was Draco’s turn. “So…?”

“There are too many awful memories for me at the Manor,” Draco finally began. “I’m sure you can understand that.” Harry nodded and waited for him to continue. “Unfortunately, my father does not. Or he does, but it’s of no concern to him. He’s on prolonged house arrest, and expected me to go out in the world and restore the Malfoy name in his stead. Politics, marriage, whatever it takes. I’m just a tool to him, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. All these years of trying to be what he wanted, and… I just couldn’t. So I left. I haven’t spoken to him since he found out I was living in a Muggle neighbourhood.”

“What about your mum?”

“She loves me, but doesn’t understand my need to distance myself from… all that. We still speak, but….” He leaned a little closer to Harry, perhaps unconsciously. “Our relationship is damaged, and I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“She should be proud of you,” Harry insisted. Draco frowned skeptically. “They both should! And you should be proud of yourself.”

“I’m proud I made it through my studies,” Draco shrugged. “But I’m still a pariah. I’m still on criminal probation. I deserve that, I know it, but it’s shameful.”

“I think it’s admirable that you took responsibility. I remember that you didn’t try to argue, at your trial.” Draco flushed and opened his mouth to protest, but Harry held up his hand. “You’re trying to do better with your life. And you're great at what you do! Even if you didn't decipher the sword —”

“Oh, I deciphered the sword,” Draco interrupted, unable to resist looking smug.

Harry stared at him open mouthed. “When were you going to tell me?!”

“I was going to send you an owl next time I was in Diagon, but then you showed up here. I was trying to figure out how to tell you and get you out the door quickly.” Draco rolled his eyes, finally relaxing beside Harry. “You do as you please, as usual.”

“So what does it say? Does it do anything?” Harry asked, taking the sword on the table.

“Tell me what the magic on it felt like.”

“It wasn’t very strong,” Harry explained. “Just like the sword was pulsing with a low energy.”

Draco hummed in acknowledgement. “That makes sense. It was the sword itself powering the spells in the crypt, not the chest. It must have been imbued with extraordinary magic at one time, but it was locked to the dais, and once that connection was broken the spells began to fade away.”

“How do you know it was the sword?” Harry asked turning it over in his hands.

“Here.” Draco pointed to the inscription. “ _Centrum vīrium._ Centre of strength, or more specifically here, power.”

“Latin?” _Centre of power… where have I heard that before?_

“It’s a simple substitution cipher,” Draco explained. “The symbols aren’t attested to in any magical resources, but a quick look through Muggle archaeology reports turned up a much longer inscription using them on a ward stone only a few miles away. The wizard or wizards who lived in Devonshire back then just made up a rune-like alphabet and used it to write in Latin. Rather amateur work, but it kept the local Muggles from reading it and wondering why someone was inscribing ward spells on rocks.”

“Oh,” said Harry, bemused. Draco practically glowed when he was explaining his work. “Amateur, you say?”

“It wasn’t even difficult!” Draco scoffed. “Ward stones at that time all started out with the same base inscription, so it was just a matter of comparison.”

“Huh. So it’s definitely not a curse or anything, then?”

“No, just a description. Possibly a name as well, but it’s a rather unwieldy title for a sword.”

“Yeah, ‘centre of power’ doesn’t really have the same ring to it as Excalibur.” It suddenly dawned on Harry where he’d heard the phrase. “You!” He pointed at Draco. “You knew what it said! Before we visited!”

Draco flinched. “I… yes,” he confessed. “I figured it out three days after you handed it over at the shop. I just didn’t tell you because… I wanted to keep spending time with you. I assumed that when the job was over, you’d be on your way, disappear on some adventure and forget about me.”

Harry wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t. That was exactly why he’d invited Draco to the game in the first place, so he wouldn’t have the chance to just disappear. Ginny was right, they were both absolute idiots. Still, Harry was impressed yet again with Draco's cleverness. “Where did you read Muggle archaeology reports?”

“The, er, computer. At the library.”

Harry caught himself before he dissolved into laughter as he pictured Draco hunched over a keyboard. “The Muggle library?”

“It’s one of my trade secrets,” Draco admitted. “Most of the older professionals in my field don’t even understand how they work. I have my past to thank for it, actually. I found doors closed to me at some of the magical academic libraries, and in my frustration went to the one place that no one knew who I was. There’s no spellbooks of course, but we share most of the same languages. Did you know you can listen to music on them? And watch films?”

Harry restrained himself from kissing Draco as his eyes lit up with excitement, detailing all the strange things computers could do. “I think that’s brilliant.”

Draco bit his lip nervously. “So you aren’t angry with me? That I lied?”

“It’s more an omission. But I’m not happy about it, no. If we try and make a go of it, it can’t always be like that. We can’t jump to conclusions and fly off the handle at each other anymore, either.”

Draco looked back up abruptly. “Make a go of it?”

“Have I not been clear? Here, I’ll make it simple.” Harry reached over and took Draco’s hand; he trembled but didn’t pull away. “Let’s go out to dinner.”

Draco watched their clasped hands as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’ve been clearer than I gave you credit for, you know. It’s all just so confusing. We were never friends, and then quite suddenly you were back in my life, and I had all these _emotions_ I wasn’t sure how to handle.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Harry…” Fear and desire warred in Draco’s voice. “I can’t — can’t travel with you, I still report to a probation officer, there are places that won’t serve me. The _Prophet_ would have a field day.”

“Those are reasons. But are they good reasons?”

The moment Draco decided to be brave, Harry saw it wash over him, and silently cheered. “No. Yes. I mean, no, they’re not good reasons. So yes. I’ll go to dinner with you.”

Harry squeezed his hand, pleased. “You know, we’re doing this in all the wrong order,” Draco said with a gleam in his eye. “You’re supposed to take me to dinner, then come to my house, _then_ take me to bed.”

“So sorry for my breach of etiquette,” Harry teased. “However will I make it up to you?” He inched closer on the couch, leaning over Draco.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Draco murmured, his words already lost in Harry’s mouth.

They kissed slowly, in no rush. Harry didn’t want to upset anything again, and Draco seemed to enjoy the lazy kisses for their own sake. Harry sucked Draco’s lip until he opened his mouth, allowing their tongues to meet. _Fuck, he tastes good._ He nibbled Draco’s jaw and licked up his neck, tasting more skin, until Draco whined and arched his back.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to push you,” Harry whispered into his hair. They’d just had a difficult conversation, after all. Draco shuddered beneath him.

“You can’t put the Kneazle back in the bag, Harry. I already know how fantastic you are in bed, I doubt I can resist.”

“Mmm, don’t tempt me.” Harry ran a hand down Draco’s side and up his shirt, pinching a nipple. “Let’s just stay on the couch.”

“You’re a tease,” Draco gasped, rutting against Harry’s thigh. They were both hard, but Harry was determined to at least keep his clothes on. He ground down on Draco as well, riding against his hip.

“Touch me,” Draco pleaded. Harry acquiesced to sliding a hand down his trousers and rubbing him through his pants.

“I’m gonna make you come, just like this,” he declared.

“Promises, promises.”

Unable to resist a challenge, Harry set upon Draco with his lips and tongue, all while stroking him off between layers of fabric. It was messy, and passionate, and Harry didn’t notice how close he was until his orgasm was nearly on him. Before he knew it, he was coming in his own pants, followed closely by Draco, and they collapsed in a sweaty, sticky mess on the couch like the teenagers they’d never really had the time to be.

As they caught their breath, Harry felt Draco’s fingers softly carding his hair. “Feels nice,” he whispered. “Feels — OW!”

Delicate fingers gave way to sharp pinpricks of pain on his back. “Fuck! What is that?” Harry shouted, trying to shake it loose. There was a yowling noise from behind, and a white blur jumped from the couch to the table, sending the sword to the floor with a clatter.

“Saffron!” Draco chastised a sleek white cat. “Don’t attack guests! He isn’t hurting me.” The cat didn’t look repentant at all, and began licking its paws.

“That’s Saffron?” Harry questioned. “I thought she’d be… yellow. Like the spice.”

“I wanted to stick with the flavourings theme, and she was rather expensive. Almost named her Truffle but —“ the cat growled. “Well, you see. She doesn’t like that.”

Harry didn’t think normal cats were supposed to understand English. “Expensive? I thought they were all rescues.”

“She’d been terribly abused, and the veterinary bills were still outstanding.” Draco reached out to scratch her beneath the chin; she immediately melted against him, purring. “There, love. You’ll have to get used to Harry, I’m afraid. You know how I am with strays.”

Harry snorted, but didn’t refute that. He was too charmed by the way the cat had transformed under Draco’s touch.

“Get off, now.” Draco pushed at him. “I need to find my wand and cast the strongest _Scourgify_ I can after that little interlude.” Harry moved aside so Draco could search for his wand, and picked the sword up from where it had fallen. He watched the light reflect off the inscription of the artefact that had brought he and Draco together.

“Why do you think someone went to so much trouble to protect the second chamber in that crypt? Who was buried there?”

Draco waved his wand over the both of them, erasing the stickiness. “I’d say our best bet is to research local Devonshire legends. They often have a grain of truth.”

“Our?”

Draco blushed. “If you’d like any help. Not that you need it, or anything, I only — ”

Harry kissed him.

“I’d love your help,” he assured Draco. “Between the two of us, we’ll probably solve it before tea.”

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)


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